


You'll Grow Into It

by AbsolutelyAtrocious



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Coming of Age, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Male Character, might end up m/m?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-03-16 10:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13634550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsolutelyAtrocious/pseuds/AbsolutelyAtrocious
Summary: Alfonse is never going to love himself the same way his sister does, but he can try.





	1. Open Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, this fic is inspired by a headcanon I've had for a while about Alfonse being a trans man. I don't have much support for this, but I like rubbing my greedy little trans hands on everything I can. And when Alfonse brought up that his dad doesn't talk to him after he joined the Order, well...it fueled me :3c  
> Anyways, tell me what you think! I'm always a slut for feedback ;u;

He was told that when he had first showed his face, seeing light after months in a dark, warm womb, he hadn't cried a bit. The physicians thought him dead before they noticed the rise and fall of his chest, the eyes scrunched tight but faintly twitching. As soon as they freed him from their arms he latched onto his mother's breast. The kingdom held a celebration for their prosperity, and after three days a name was chosen. The peaceful child was to be named Freyja. And, being an infant void of speech, Freyja protested not, content to suckle for the time being.

Around the age of four, problems began to present themselves.

Freyja, on walks through the castle gardens, would turn from her attendants and hide. While her adult handmaidens swarmed about like ants, she would climb a tree. Being four, she had no clue on how to get down. This was easily remedied: trips to the garden were made short. The virtues driven into her through lessons were made longer.

At age five, another problem arose. The time came for Freyja, princess of  
Askr, to sit for a portrait with her mother and father. But the dress they put her in, a soft thing lined with silk and comfortable fabrics, was removed. Freyja had not grasped entirely how clothes worked, but could remove hers provided there were no buttons or clasps involved. This she did. Again and again. Eventually, they settled for a snapshot with a tome and allowed the princess to run to her chambers.

Growing feet that were quickly tiring of lovely shoes and puffed petticoats slammed against the floor. A door opened and shut. And Freyja, young but rebellious, slammed her back against it, panting as she fumbled with the hem of her dress. It didn't itch. It fit fine. She simply hated it.

Within a minute, it was off. Lying on the ground in a crumpled heap of embroidery. The little ruffles stared her in the face, accusing and ashamed. _Why would you reject us so?_ they asked. But Freyja could not answer. She thought it was pretty. But she did not think it belonged on her. Six years old was a delicate time, with only a few sources to which a child feels loyalty. The strongest of these sources is the self, and Freyja's sense was particularly strong. Too strong for a bit of chiffon and the whispers of the royal court to muffle.

A few days later, Freyja shyly asked her mother if she could wear pants. 

The queen laughed at first, but then gently explained to her still young daughter why no, she was not going to be wearing pants.

"You're a princess, Frejya. Why would you wear pants?" she asked. Freyja squeezed her tiny hands into fists before opening them back up.  
"I hate skirts. I don't really like them. At all."  
"You'll learn to, my dear. And besides, you look so pretty with your dresses." The queen picked her up (which was getting harder by the day) and kissed her daughter on the forehead.  
"Sometimes, being a princess means doing things you don't want to do so other people can be happy."

At age ten, Freyja looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. Her ladies in waiting had started to powder her face, softening her cheeks with a pretty blush. She disliked it. But, she was a princess. A princess gave up things she wanted for the happiness of others. And as the next in line for the throne, this applied more to her than her little sister.  
"Fweyja!"  
Speaking of little sisters.  
Freyja turned witb a gentle smile to Sharena, only four, still not able to pronounce "r" sounds without trying really, really hard. A happy noise escaped the tiny girl's mouth as she dashed over to cling to her big sister's leg.  
"Hi Fweyja! I mist you!"  
"I can tell," she replied. She hooked her hands under Sharena's armpits and pulled her up into the air, tossing her a bit before settling the child on her hip. Sharena laughed.  
"What'dya do in tooting?"  
Freyja supressed a chuckle at Sharena's words. "Oh, nothing much. Just boring stuff, as usual. Mom and Dad got a teacher to come in from Hvergelmir to teach me about the new maths they have over there. They have a number for when there's nothing called a 'zero.'"  
Sharena tried to copy the word. "Vuggelmeer sounds funny."  
"Well, the name 'Askr' probably sounds funny to my teacher."

Their happy prattle continued until dinner.

At age 14, Freyja was really starting to hate herself.

Sharena, as it turned out, didn't have much issue with a pretty dress as long as it didn't itch when she wore it. Which the court tailors ensured it never did. She had long hair like sunshine pulled into strands, the tips fading into sunset pink, and a smile that hadn't lost the joy of childhood. And Freyja would kill to ensure that it never would. She was what Freyja wished she could have been at age eight, unburdened with the weight of being a princess. And what ran deeper, what she feared and hated about herself, the weight of just being a girl.

Her chest had started to grow past its former flatness, breast tissue bubbling up unbidden. Her hips, too, seemed to burst outwards in odd bulges that left her swaying, off balance. Quietly, without a sound, Freyja would weep at night, wondering why the gods had made a girl that didn't want to be one. Soon, she had learned, blood would flow from between her legs. A testament to nature's torturous mockery.

Her lessons in the lance had begun. They were training her to wield the legendary Fensalir, just in case war reared its head. Or just to show off to the other kingdoms that, hey, their royals were super cool. Freyja didn't mind that. One of thd few things she liked about her body came from it: strength. She watched as her arms grew from slim twigs to sturdy saplings. Past the bulky curves of her chest and hips, straight and clean lines formed. A testament to her own labor and power.

Freyja looked at herself in the mirror. She had her own room now, next door to Sharena's. Her hair wasn't as pretty as Sharena's. Instead of the warm colors her sister was blessed with, her own hair was dark blue, fading into a clashy yellow at the ends. Her father had likened the strands to a rare stone, lapis lazuli. But she didn't see the resemblance.

She opened a drawer and picked out a blade.

The next moring, Sharena was the first to see her sister.  
"Wow! Your hair!" Freyja shuffled and looked away, fingering the dull ends that had gone from back-length to barely reaching her shoulders.

"Yeah...it kept getting in the way of practice," she mumbled. Her eyes had tears shining in them.

Sharena ran up and hugged Freyja. Arms still clad in nightgown sleeves squeezed tight.

"It looks awesome, sis."

Awesome. Not pretty, awesome. The 'sis' was unwelcome, but...  
For now, Freyja woyld settle for awesome.


	2. Shut Them Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some emotional abuse in this one.

Sharena dragged Freyja down the halls of the castle. "Come on, Freyja! We gotta show mom and dad your cool new cut!"  
Freyja half winced, half grinned. She wasn't sure what her parents were going to think of...this. She hadn't asked permission to cut her hair, just chopped it off. But she ran with Sharena, stumbling as her hand was pulled, until they arrived at the dining hall.

Freyja felt the first sets of eyes on her short, choppy hair at the entrance. The maids at the door were silent, but an air of apprehension radiated from them. Nevertheless, they bowed as the royal children passed by. As soon as they were believed to be out of earshot, whispers sprung up.

It was hard for Freyja to hold her head low as she was used to. Her hair usually weighed on her head, but now she was almost compelled to keep it up, floating through air on nervous pride peeking through where a curtain of humility had been. But she managed. Sharena's feet ran ahead of hers, heavy with enthusiasm, and she heard the groan of wooden legs dragging across the floor before the 'thud' of Sharena landing in her seat. Only when Freyja sat across from her did she dare look up.

Staring at the already paling ends of her hair was her wide eyed mother, hand slowly raising to her mouth, and her father, still. His expression was unreadable. 

Freyja gulped. "Good...good morning, mother and father." Her hands trembled. She twisted the ends of her hair when she got nervous. Her hair would sit in her lap, but it barely brushed the ends of her shoulders now. Instead, she twisted the ring on her finger. It would do for now.

The queen woke from her stupor. "What happened to your hair, Freyja?"

"I cut it," she said. 

"Why?"

"It kept getting in t-"

Her father slammed his hands on the table. "Freyja."

Her hands stilled in her lap.

"Come into the hall." Without waiting for a reply, he stood and exited, leaving the maids and butlers to pick up the scattered cutlery he had knocked over. The queen went back to her fruit and oats.

Obediently, hand returning to the ring around her finger, trying to keep her knees from shaking, Freyja rose and followed.

The maids that tended the door withdrew when Freyja passed them, entering the dining room and shutting the doors. The air in the hall was cooler than that of the dining room. She couldn't bring herself to look her father in the eyes.

"Look at me, Freyja." She turned her head up, fighting to keep a neutral face. Her father's eyes were slitted, partially covered by his furrowed brow.

"What makes you think that you can just cut your hair whenever and however you like?" he hissed. He was leaning closer.

"It got in the way of my practice," Freyja replied. Her voice was unsteady compared to the monolith that was her strong, proud, powerful father before her.

He gripped her collar, yanking her closer. She could smell the sausage and eggs he had been eating before she came in. It was an unpleasant, unwanted sensation, but it almost went unnoticed with the strong pull on her blouse. Her lips fell open and her eyes went wide, baring her teeth in a subconscious effort to scare off the threatening presence that held her captive, away from her sister and her mother, but upsettingly close to her father.

"I," he breathed, voice hardly above a whisper, "have had enough of your tomboyish shenanigans. You are the crown princess of Askr. You are a face of this family, and what you do reflects on the rest of us. Your impulses make us look bad. And your rebellion creates unrest in this family and this country." His grip tightened slightly. The white satin gloves on his hand wrinkled, balled up between his fingertips and his palm and a shirt. Freyja's breath was shallow.

"After breakfast, you are going to get one of the mages to perform a growth spell on your hair and get it back to the way it was. This haircut is not only ugly, but inappropriate for a lady." He released her.

Freyja slumped. Her hand went back to her ring. "Y-yes, sir."

He went in and held her close, stroking her back. She dared not pull from his embrace, even if the comfort was meager and only half there.

He spoke in her ear: "I'm sorry for shouting, darling. You...really shouldn't have done that." Was that to her or to himself, Freyja wondered. "But you're going to fix this, right?" His hand went from her shoulders to the ends of her hair. They had finally faded to a pale yellow color, clashing against the blue.

"Yes, sir," Freyja said into his chest. Her father released her.

Together, they walked back into the dining room. Her father opened the door for her, a gentleman's gesture, and held his hand for her to go. She nodded graciously and passed him, walking to sit in her chair. Her mother squeezed her hand.

A maid approached. "What would you like for breakfast, mistress?"

"Bread and fruit would be nice." The servant nodded and walked away, taking steady and even steps. From across the table, Sharena looked at her sister. Freyja didn't look back and twisted the ring on her finger. The crest on it was Askr's. A carefully woven sort of shieldlike emblem, usually made of a mix of gold and bronze to show strength and wealth. Such a large duty, all contained in a ring that she turned and turned.

The servant came back with a plate. It held two rolls and three figs. Freyja thanked her and picked up one of the figs, but didn't eat it. Her mind ran along its surface.

Tomboy. Short hair.. An awkward body. Wishing she could feel the way about being tha Sharena did. Wishing that she liked being a girl. Wishing that the whole kingdom and a few neighboring ones weren't staring, watching her every move as the future ruler grew.

She bit into the fig and chewed it, swallowed it, without really tasting it.


	3. Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's me! I haven't updated in a while because, like many people, life sucks! But I am doing my best to write for this. The chapters are short. I would make them longer if I could, but I'm a big baby and don't know how. Bluh.
> 
> Here's chapter four. Rating is going up because our boy says some Bad Words (in his head.)

Metal rang against metal. Sparks flew. A sword bore down on a shield, its user not daring to give up on the pressure lest their foe overwhelm them. But the shield's holder allowed it to fall, and the myrmidon fell with it.

Freyja scrambled to the side, out of the falling body's path, and thrust the silver spear into her foe's back. The illusory foe disappeared in a cloud of violet smoke. A cry from behind alerted her to the prescence of another, and she spun, scooping up her shield again. A copy of a Hero called Bartre ran towards her, axe at the ready. It was too late to dodge, so Freyja raised her shield once more and braced for impact. The axe came down twice, sending shocks through her arm. Bartre then leaned back, readying another attack, and she struck. She thrust her spear, leaving a shallow stab wound in her opponent. It wasn't enough.

The axe crashed against her spear and stuck in the metal. She pulled it back, producing an eerie screech. She didn't think she was going to win, but had to try. She struck out once more with everything, aiming for a deeper wound.

The spear slipped past her opponent. The axe raised once more. Her lungs strained to take in air. She gave up.

"Stop!"

The blow didn't come. Freyja turned her head to see her mother striding towards her. Looking up, the axe was inches from dealing a killing blow. She looked back down and let out a shaky breath..

A pair of warm arms wrapped around her. "You did wonderfully, Freyja." She relaxed into her mother's grip, panting, exhausted. The lance slipped from her fingertips, landing in the dust next to her knees and stirring up more. She coughed. The Hero dissipated into purple smoke like the previous foe had.

Her mother took her hand and helped her to her feet. Just before drawing her back in for another embrace, the queen smiled at her. Freyja stood stiffly in the hug. She was bad at touching. Finally, she was released to wash up.

Freyja walked to the edge of the training floor, pushed the doors open and exited, leaving them to swing back and forth behind her. She lit a fire. Put a cauldron of water on to boil for a bath. She unhooked the clasps of her armor, laid it on a stand, and waited, alone with the crackling logs and her thoughts.

She didn't like training one bit. No matter how skilled she became, no matter how many targets she struck down, Fensalir always rejected her. After each successful run through the castle's training grounds, she would wash herself, pray, and go with her mother and father to the temple that held the legendary spear. With bated breath, she apporached. Each time, a powerful presence pushed her back to the threshold. Never crying, but always with her head bowed, she returned to her parents empty handed. Unworthy. Maybe she wasn't meant to wield it.

The sound of bubbling water pulled her from her thoughts. She sighed and put the fire out. Then came the hard part.

 _Deep breaths,_  she thought. She filled her lungs with air and let it out. Her trembling fingers fumbled and fidgeted in the space before her tunic's hem, hesitating before she sucked in air once more. She held her breath in her lungs, and her hands dove between fabric and skin, grasping the hem before pulling it over her head. Arms tore themselves free of sleeves. Hands shoved shorts and tights down. Freyja tried not to feel any of it. Each time the cloth made contact with her body, each time flesh  _moved_ without will behind it, she repressed a shudder. It felt like undressing a warm corpse that had been linked to her soul.

With her teeth clenched and using jerky, too-forceful movements, she scrubbed her body down. When done, she dried herself and put on the fresh set of clothes folded by the exit. Another damned skirt.

A fucking skirt.

Frejya cried.

 

* * *

 

Her room was quiet.

Nobody was there to tell her that she shouldn't feel like she did. It was just her, and her thoughts. There was still the torturous weight of being a girl, but nothing else.

A knock sounded from the door. "It's Sharenaaaaaaaa!"

Freyja smiled and went to open it. Sharena stared up at her, also smiling a bit. Quickly, she took her older sibling's hand and dragged her to sit on the large bed in the middle of the room...and started to jump on it.

"Hey! What did I tell you about that?"

"To take my shoes off first?"

"Exactly!" Sharena was tackled and brought back down to the sheets, giggling all the while Freyja took off the kid-sized shoes she wore. Soon, she followed with her own and joined her sister in jumping on the bed, forgetting and forsaking worries and gravity.

After a few good minutes of happy play, they both fell on their backs according to an unspoken agreement. That was enough. A servant might hear the ruckus and scold them. Smiling and panting, cheeks flushed with laughter, they lay thete.

"Freyja?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you really a girl?"

Freyja frowned. "I...think so?"

Sharena rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows. "Cause, like, you seem a lot more like a boy. Not in a bad way, and sorey if it's mean."

"No, it's not," Freyja said quickly. "Truth be told, I wish I were a boy. It would make things a lot easier. A lot better. Dad wouldn't be mad at me, I could be myself." And I would have a different, better body, she thought.

Sharena nodded with a thoughtful look. It was almost comical on her small face. "What if I called you 'big brother'?"

Freyja's breath caught in her throat. It was like a whirlwind had taken the air from her. A happy, dancing, laughing whirlwind. A whirlwind full of potential and better things. A whirlwind that called Freyja a brother.

He paused. No, she paused.

"I. I think I'd l-like that."

Sharena grinned. "Okay, bro-bro!"

Laughter echoed through the room, and for a minute, the world felt perfect to Sharena's big brother.


	4. Find Yourself

Sharena had gotten lost running through the temples again. Really, the poor girl was too adventurous for her own good, Freyja thought. Just a few minutes before a meeting, too. Freyja personally thought it was ridiculous that Sharena needed to be at the meetings, seeing as she rarely understood what was going on. It was supposed to be a "learning experience", according to her mother. Whatever. Sharena hadn't yet turned ten, and couldn't understand the jargon that came spewing out of the mouths of so many viceroys. Freyja hardly understood it, herself. And Sharena hated them, preferring to run away when they occurred. Hence,the current situation.

"Sharena! Come on, it's Freyja, where are you?" Anxious, she scanned the entrance. Nothing behind the columns. On to the daunting interior.

The white stone arches loomed above, watching. Wondering what she was doing here. The sound of the short-heeled shoes she wore bouced and echoed, becoming deafening in the silence. Windows were about, lining each wall, but the sunlight that came in offered no company. Freyja turned left, walked into a cold corridor. "Sharena!" Again, no response. Only her own voice called back to her. "We're gonna be late if you don't hurry up! And you know how dad gets." The last part was more to herself, but the spacious chambers amplified it regardless. The marble walls shot the sin back into her ears.

A blond head peeked from behind a doorway. "It's just you?" The question was barely audible.

"Yep. Just me." Freyja breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't gone too far after all.

Sharena pranced over, ponytail swishing. She was way too carefree for the situation. "We didn't know where you were, 'Rena." Freyja's hand reached down to ruffle her little sister's hair. Even disobedient, she was too cute to abstain from.

"Sorry."

"You are not a very good liar, you know." Sharena stifled a giggle. "We realy do have to get back. Mom and Dad are waiting for us, and the viceroys are gonna get impatient if they have to wait much longer." Freyja held her hand out to be taken. "Come on."

Sharena moved to take it. And then darted away. For fuck's sake!

"Sharena, bla--aagh, get back here!" Don't curse in front of her, yeah but she's _running_ and you _know how fast she is._ Freyja dashed after her, following the sound of footsteps. Probably. Stupid echoes.

"Hey, Frey! Come check this out!" Sharena's voice came from around the corner. Hurriedly, Freyja scrambled after her. 

"Wait, Sharena!" Freyja came to a skidding halt, almost bumping into the young girl before her. And then looked up.

"What...is that?"

Before the two sat a thick silver sword, set with gold inlays. Low close to the hilt was a shimmering blue stone surrounded by smaller white ones, gleaming like stars. Beneath it hung a golden plaque, carved with text in the old language A magical barrier protected the entire display from theft or damage, though it didn't seem to be a spell. No, the sword had created it, Freyja was sure. 

"It's a really cool sword, duh! Why do you think mom and dad never showed it to us?" Sharena said.

Freyja looked down at her. "Probably because it's an extremely powerful holy weapon. It's exuding its own magical field, see?" Freyja pointed to the blue glow surrounding it, gestured vaguely at the humming air.  
Sharena snorted. "Okay, now that you mention it, I feel it. Yeah, all the humming and stuff." She moved as to leave."Come on, big bro, you were supposed to find me, right?"

Freyja took a few steps towards the sword. "One second, I want to read the inscription." She peered at the gold plating, trying to remember her lessons on the old tongue. 

"Fo...Fólkvangr. The sword forged for the...is that 'crown' or 'castle'..." The plaque was somewhat hard to read through the shifting light of the magic. She leaned forward to press her face against it.

Freyja fell straight through the field. "Whoa!" Hands hit the wall just fast enough to stop a full collision with the sword. Close enough to read the plaque properly, forgetting to wonder _how in the gods' name did I pass through that?_

"Fòlkvangr. The sword forged for the crown prince of Askr."

"Hey! Big bro, get out of there!" Sharena's voice was a world away as the blue crystal in Fòlkvangr shone like a star. It was blinding, pulsating in a way that called Freyja like Fensalir never had. 

Hands shaking, Freyja reached out to touch the handle. Just before contact, it snapped forth to meet the hand that approached. It fit Freyja's hand like it was forged to be held at this very moment.

And suddenly, it all made sense. Wishing to be a boy. Hating the body Freyja was born into. Those wretched outfits, Fensalir's rejection time and time again.

It wasn't that he was unworthy. It was that he wasn't a _girl._

A loud scream broke him out of his reverie.

"Oh my gosh are you touching it how did you get through the magicy thing are you okay oh my gosh what if we're gonna get in trouble?" Sharena's babble was a merging stream of fear and excitement, with the excitement taking over (as it tended to with her.) 

"Yeah. We should go." His own voice startled him. It seemed to be deeper, somehow. He stepped back, still holding Fòlkvangr in his right hand. 

"Aren't you going to put the sword back?"

"I think Mom and Dad are going to want to see this," he replied.

The two of them exited the temple.

"So, what did the plaque say?"

"It says the sword was made for Askr's crown...prince." He coudln't stop a grin from spreading across his lips.

"That makes a lotta sense. Like, really, you never felt like a girl."

"Yeah."

"And I don't think even Dad's gonna argue with a badass sword."

"Sharena! Language!"

"Sorry, bro-bro."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhh...i feel like i coulda done better with this one  
> sorry for not updating in like. a month. im lazy and tired, not to mention its the end of my senior year. next comes college...joy. can't wait. (i can)
> 
> anyways, hope you liked this chapter ✌


	5. Keep It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I haven't updated in forever. (My inner Homestuck is trying to get me to say "upd*" and its not happening) There's no big excuse for that, tbh. I just wasn't confident enough in the chapter to publish it. And I still am not totally okay with it, but it's...satisfactory. I guess. If you wanna know about all my funky life stuff, you can message me and we can bitch about our problems together.

On the way back to the castle, they discussed his name.

"Freyja doesn't really feel like a good name for a boy," Sharena said. She meant it innocently, but it made his neck prickle anyways.

"You're right," he said. "But I don't have anything better for now."

"You should come up with a new one!" Sharena looked up at him expectantly. "It should be cool, like...uh...Zero!"

Freyja chuckled. "Absolutely not." Nobody would take him seriously with a name like that.

"Alright, what about Desmond?"

"Desmond? What sort of a name is Desmond?"

"He's in a book I'm reading. He's the hero and he rescued a princess from a murderer, but her family doesn't like him because he's all poor and stuff. So he has to win her hand by doing all sorts of crazy stuff!"

"He sounds decent. I'm not going to name myself Desmond, though," Freyja said.

Sharena looked up at him. "Isn't there, like, a name you always wanted to have?" He didn't have one. He tried to quietly obey, submit to those in charge, because he thought their satisfaction would make him feel better. It didn't, usually.

Freyja swallowed. "No, actually. Do you?"

"Don't spin it on me. Nice try!" Sharena stuck out her tongue. "You should choose it. It's your name."

"I'll figure it out. Just not now."

Freyja and Sharena arrived at the castle just before the meeting started. The last of the viceroys were trickling into the grand hall in their typical overdressed fashion. Each one vied for attention like exotic birds, wearing flashy colors to attract a mate. Or, in this case, a better budget, more land, favor from the king and queen. Freyja walked with his head held up and Fòlkvangr sheathed at his side, tapping against his thigh with every step he took. The officials that hadn't yet been seated flocked to him and Sharena with a rustle of fabric.

"Ah, the young princesses!" "Hello, your Highnesses..." "What radiant beauty you have grown into..." The sugary comments crawled over Freyja's skin. He held up a hand for silence. Immediately, the small crowd hushed. "I need to speak with my father," he said. Like the sea, they parted. From the corner of his eye he saw Sharena curtsy briefly before trotting after him. She offered her hand, tapping it against his. Freyja gratefully accepted the support, smiling down at his sister.

A servant opened the door to the conference room, where a few dozen people were seated along the edge of a dark wood table. Directly in front of Freyja and Sharena, at the other end of the room, was their mother, Queen Edda, and their father, King Gustav. Regal. Powerful. Commanding respect and deference. Freyja looked into his eyes without wavering. His hand squeezed Sharena's tightly one last time before letting go. She stepped to the side, but didn't leave for her chair yet.

Behind them, the last of the officials flocked into the room, passing the two royals to get to their seats. 

Freyja broke eye contact.

"Come, Freyja, sit," said Gustav.

He pulled Fòlkvangr out of its sheath and lifted it up in front of him. He gripped it too tightly to let his hands shake the way they wanted to, like a lifeline. "I need to make an announcement to everyone seated here. His Majesty the king, Her Majesty the queen, Lady Sharena...everyone."

"Freyja, sit," the king whispered. Edda placed her hand on his clenched fist. He pushed it off.

"I have lived here for all my fifteen years under the title 'Princess of Askr.' I can no longer go by this title in honesty. The blade I hold--"

"Freyja. Sit down," Gustav said.

"The blade I hold," he said, louder, "is the Fòlkvangr, forged for a worthy crown prince of Askr. I am neither a woman nor a princess. I am a prince. And I would like to be called as such."

Murmurs swept through the room. King Gustav stood from his chair; this produced a horrid screech as the legs scraped against the floor that silenced everything else until the sound was eaten up by the chatter. Queen Edda started, but did not move save for raising her arm as if to shield herself. Sharena tucked herself behind Freyja, who stood tall, shieldlike, despite how his body begged him to curl up, away from his father. The king swiftly moved around the table. His boots thumped against the floor, growing louder, and then he was face to face with Freyja. Sharena's fingers dug into his skin as the king took Freyja's hand and guided Fòlkvangr swiftly back into its sheath before turning to adress the room.

"I am going to speak with my daughter alone." Before Freyja could protest, he was tugged outside. The most piercing stare was his mother's, confused and a bit fearful. The servants hastily opened the doors for them, and Freyja saw Sharena slip out as well.

Gustav glared at the servants until the doors had shut again and they had fled. Then his stony gaze turned to Sharena. "This does not involve you," he said. "Go back in there and wait in your damn seat."

Sharena shook her head. "No. I'm staying here with m-my brother." Her hands curled into fists, matching her father's. She stood beneath his heavy frown until he turned back to Freyja.

"Give me the sword. It is not yours."

"It chose me."

"'Chose you?' You picked it up in order to put on this farce of being a boy. I am not dealing with this drama. Give. Me. The. Sword."

"I am a boy. This sword called to me, and as its rightful wielder, I will--I won't..." Freyja faltered as Gustav stepped closer. He loomed over Freyja, having at least six inches of height over Freyja's shorter frame and blocking Sharena's worried face from view. The shadow Gustav cast covered Freyja's own. Gustav reached for the sword to snatch it away, and something happened.

A bright beam on blue light wrapped around the king's hand and he groaned suddenly. Freyja felt something hot pouring into him, something powerful and warm that seemed to wrap his soul in energy. His eyes closed.

Gustav sat on the floor, panting. Freyja looked down to see his father's face scrunched up in pain. Whatever that had just been from the sword...

"Keep it."

"W-what?" His hands shook.

"Keep the damned sword. You're not coming to this meeting." With that, Gustav stood on shaky legs and walked away from both his children. The doors opened and shut, and he was gone. Sharena ran over and held him in a powerful embrace, which he returned. Freyja didn't realize, but tears were dropping onto his sister's head as hers soaked into his dress. 

The doors opened again and they scrambled to dry their faces. Their mother came out into the hallway.

"What happened? Are you two okay? Freyja, what..." Edda shook her head and continued forward. Freyja and Sharena remained still. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," said Sharena. "But big bro's--I mean, Freyja's sword did something to Dad." The queen took her small hand in her own. She turned to Freyja. "Where in the world did you get the Fòlkvangr from?" she asked.

"When I was looking, for, uh, Sha...." He steadied himself. "When I was looking for Sharena in the temple, I saw it, and it...called to me, somehow. I was pulled towards it." His mother seemed stunned. Freyja had been, too.

"But the sword..." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "We'll talk about this later. I think I'm going to sit out the meeting with you two, because I can't be in there with your father right now." 

Their mother held her other hand out. Freyja took it, and he, Sharena, and the queen walked away from the meeting.


End file.
